


A Promise

by paintedwolf



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: A sprinkle of fluff, Angst, Brotherly Love, Gen, I can't help it, Loki calls Thor an oaf, Pre-Thor (2011), Thor loves his little brother, bit of hurt, but that's not the important part, it's obligatory, there's a war happening, thoughtful!Thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 17:02:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18815209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedwolf/pseuds/paintedwolf
Summary: Loki is wounded in battle. Thor is confronted with  the possibility of losing his brother.Promises are made.





	A Promise

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last year while I was sick with a lung infection, but never actually got around to posting it. It's the first thing for Marvel I've finished, and is pretty much maximum self-indulgence, but I'm rather fond of it, so here you are.

Thor checks himself at the very last second, and knocks softly on the door instead of barrelling in as he normally does. He is anxious to see his brother.

No matter what news he had received from Asgard while he'd been away, or how much Frigga has reassured him that Loki is fine, he knows his nerves won't settle until he lays his own eyes on him.

He waits a full fifteen seconds before determining that his brother must be asleep, so he cracks the door open as silently as he can manage and pokes his head inside.

Loki is indeed sleeping, propped up against so many pillows that Thor thinks they must have cleared out the healing rooms for them. He’s wearing a light, cream tunic, and Thor smiles gently at the mussed, tangled hair that spoke of many days of bed rest. Loki would no doubt be annoyed had he a mirror to look at it; his brother has always hated the wild curls that his hair takes up in its natural, ungroomed state.

His humour fades some when he looks at pale, hollowed cheeks.

Even now, more than a week later, Loki looks as if he's been dragged through Helheim and back.

Then he turns to Thor, and gives him a smile so blinding that it's as if the sun has parted storm clouds right in the middle of Loki’s chambers.

After so many months upon the dreary battlefields of Alfheim, it lifts his heavy heart like nothing else could.

With no further invitation needed, Thor steps fully into the room.

When he is within reaching distance of the bed, Loki raises his hand, and Thor immediately takes it up in his own. In the same motion, he bends over to place a kiss on his head.

"Hello, little brother," he says with a smile.

"Welcome home, Thor."

He steps back to slide into the chair beside the bed that he’s certain has been frequently occupied by their mother these past days. He doesn't let go of Loki’s hand, only shifts his hold so that their wrists aren’t bent awkwardly when he sits down.

"How are you, Loki?" he asks once he is settled.

“I am well, Thor,” says Loki, and though his lips are turned upwards when he speaks, there is no mistaking the exhaustion that thins his voice.

He isn’t, and they both know it.

Thor cannot help but look at him skeptically, “You do not _look_ well.”

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Loki says, bemused, “But I have it on good authority that I am healing as I should, for all that I’m still not permitted to leave this damned bed. Unless, of course, you would like to _officially_ challenge Lady Eir’s diagnosis?”

Thor shakes his head, “I would not question Eir even on pain of death.”

“She would surely be the one to strike you down herself, if you did.”

“And I am wise enough to know which battles I will inevitably lose.”

Loki snorts, “You confuse wisdom with common sense, brother. Though I suppose that is not surprising given that you possess neither.”

“That is because I have you to be sensible and wise in sufficient quantity for us both.”

Something passes over Loki’s face then, an emotion that Thor can’t decipher before it disappears so quickly to have almost never been there at all. There's still a hint of humour in his features, but his eyes have a faintly glazed quality to them, and Thor realises, deflated, that even this short conversation has already sapped at his brother’s reserves.

He should leave him to his rest, but he doesn’t have enough words to express how much he’s missed Loki in the days they’ve been apart, and he finds he doesn’t want to go. He clears his throat, casting about for something more to say in the hope of prolonging his visit, even as he is torn by guilt between what he wants, and what he knows his brother needs.

In the end, Loki makes the choice for him.

He shakes their hands where they are still clasped together, “Come. You must tell me of the Alfar’s treaty. What agreements have the council reached with them?”

Thor cannot help but suspect that Loki is merely indulging him, having no doubt picked up on his uncertainty, but—clever as his little brother always is—he’s done so in a way that his request could easily be mistaken as simple, impatient curiosity. Thor knows well that Loki would have his hands on that document before even the Allfather could look it over.  

And so Thor lays out the specifics of their agreement with Alfheim in as much detail as he can remember, though he reminds himself as he does to procure a copy for Loki from the court librarian as soon as everything has been entered into the archive, so that he can read it for himself.

 

There is a sense of anticipation in the air; of things drawing to a close. The enemy forces still come, but they are easily beaten back, and their numbers grow less by the day. It will not be long before they are driven into surrender.

The roar of battle sings once more in Thor’s veins, as he blocks, parries and strikes with a new vigour that he thought had all but been depleted from the weeks upon weeks of constant fighting.

For the first time in his life, he truly cannot wait to be home, to take a long bath, and sleep in his own bed.

Yes, it will not be long now. They are sure of it.

When he thinks on it later, he will realise that he heard it happen. A quickly stifled yell of pain, lost among the sounds of clashing metal that Thor gives little thought to at the time. He is too busy trading blows with a pair of Alfar warriors, and while he wishes he had his brother’s steady presence at his back, he has little time to concern himself further. He and Loki had separated early on into the battle, and though Thor would much rather fight with his brother at his side, he understands that their skills are different, and are therefore needed in different places.

It isn’t until he’s picking his way across the fields during another temporary cessation of fighting, that he deeply regrets ever letting his brother out of his sight.

A man he knows as Imir—who normally serves as an Einherjar in the palace—approaches him where he stands, face solemn, and even before he speaks, Thor knows he will not like what he is about to hear.

“My lord, your brother—the Prince—he is...”

“What is it, Imir?” he presses.

The young warrior swallows, “He has been wounded, my lord.”

Thor’s stomach twists into a hard knot, but some relief washes over him all the same. Wounded, at least, is far better than...

“How badly?” he asks, just barely able to keep from shouting in his anguish. This should not have happened.

Imir says no more, and instead turns to look behind him. Thor follows his gaze to where four soldiers appear on the hill, carrying a litter between them on which lies—

“Loki! Brother,” he cries, feeling his legs grow weak at the sight of his little brother, pale, bloody and unconscious before him. He drops to one knee beside Loki, his hand reaching out to stroke his hair, but his brother does not move, does not so much as twitch at his touch.

“What happened?”

He asks no one in particular, glancing up only vaguely at the five men who surround them, but it’s Imir who speaks once more.

“They had a sorcerer, my lord. We know not from whence he came, but he seemed to be trying to draw our men into some sort of ambush. Prince Loki dispatched him easily enough, but not before—”

Thor forces himself to look. There are two deep gashes in Loki’s chest, almost from shoulder to hip, and if it were not for the way they blackened at the edges, as if burnt, Thor would have imagined they came from the claws of some giant beast. They are still bleeding in small rivulets that slide down the side of Loki’s leathers, and Thor has to swallow before he can speak again, seeing his brother’s blood seeping into the fabric beneath him.

“Take him to the healing tent at once,” he orders, though he knows there's little need. They’re hardly going to take Loki anywhere else in this state. The men nod once, before bending to pick up their burden once more. Imir leads the way, and Thor follows behind, stone-faced and shocked into silence, though he makes sure he can see Loki’s face the whole time. He doesn’t know why, when it pains him so to look at his brother like this, but some strange thought tells him that surely Loki cannot die while Thor watches helpless.

 

They are greeted at the tent by two healers, who quickly usher them inside. With the help of the warriors who carried him, Loki is lifted and placed gently on one of the low cots set out in a line across the right side of the tent. One of the healers immediately bends over him, checking the pulse at his neck, but they’re unable to see any more, as the second healer is already herding them back towards the entrance flap. Thor has barely any time to protest before he finds himself outside, staring at the lightly billowing canvas that now shields his brother from view. Thor considers demanding entrance on his authority as Crown Prince, but he’s been in these tents before. There's little enough space to work, and no matter how much he wishes to be there, his presence will do nothing for his brother right now but get in the way of those attempting to save his life.

Soon enough, the rest of the injured from the battle start trickling in, all in various rumpled and dirtied states. Most walk themselves, limping or clutching at injuries, though there are a few who arrive slung between the shoulders of their comrades. Two more litters hurry past him, and Thor is just able to glimpse the same burning wounds on them as those that had struck down his brother. _That damned sorcerer_ , Thor thinks.

He knows that there are some among the Alfar that use seidr, mostly in the Northern regions, but very few practice combative magic like Loki, and even then, their quarrels are not with them. The Nordalfar are a peaceful people who do not owe their loyalty to the leader of the rebels, and certainly have no interest in involving themselves in his disagreements with the Aesir. Perhaps the sorcerer had only been a rogue, or some ally called in at the twilight hour to aid the losing side. Despite himself, Thor chuckles at the latter thought, thinking of how easily Loki had dealt with him. _Though apparently, not easily enough_ , he thinks darkly. _For his sake, he should be glad he's dead, for there would no be mercy for him should we have met._

 

It seemed as though it was hours before he heard any word about Loki. Most had returned to camp, and were going about the usual post-battle chores around him. Cooking fires flare to life in anticipation of the hunters’ catch; weapons and armour are delivered to the smiths for sharpening and repair, and from where he stands waiting, Thor can hear conversation spreading through the air as the warriors verbally jostle to be the first to tell their battle tales.

When Loki’s healer finally steps out of the tent, there is a sizeable gouge in the dirt at Thor’s feet from his incessant pacing across the soft, damp ground.

“How fares my brother?” asks Thor without preamble, almost before the flap has settled back over the entrance.

The healer’s face is strained, an expression he is sure is mirrored in his own, and Thor thinks he may have forgotten how to breathe.

“We have stabilised him, my lord, but I’m afraid his injuries are too great for us to treat here. The prince must be returned to Asgard with all possible haste.”

The words are slow to take in Thor’s mind. In all the time they’ve been there, they have sent only five home, and even then, only for the most grievous of wounds. Having seen them himself, Thor has known all along that Loki’s injuries are serious, yet somehow he had still imagined his brother stepping out of the tent like some others he'd seen, sporting bandages and looking a little worse for wear, but otherwise unharmed.

The reality comes crashing down on him like a rockslide.

“May I—may I see him?” he asks, and his voice is high and thin. Like a child’s, he thinks.

“You may, my lord. He woke but a few minutes ago, but I must warn you that he is very weak, and may not—”

Thor holds up a hand. “I understand,” he says. “I will not tax his strength. I only wish to look in on him and reassure myself that he still lives.”

The healer nods silently, then steps aside to let Thor into the tent.

The first thing he notices is how cool it is inside, and empty. He had not realised it before, but he sees now that all the other wounded have been diverted to the second healing tent, and that it is Loki alone who occupies this one. The air smells strongly of the plants and tinctures he knows to associate with healing, but he also cannot miss the heavy scent of blood that lingers beneath it.

Loki lies, so still on the cot nearest to him, that Thor momentarily wonders if the healer is mistaken, and that his brother has slipped away without them knowing. But no, he can see Loki’s chest move. Slightly and raggedly, but he is breathing. There is a large fur draped over his legs, but his top half is bare, save for the thick swathes of bandages that have been wrapped around his entire torso. There are several pinkish-red patches dotted here and there where blood has seeped through.

He looks...small without his armour and layers of leather to cover him. Vulnerable.

Thor kneels down beside him, and gently takes hold of his hand, pressing Loki’s knuckles to his lips. They are torn and scratched, and his skin is cool.

Loki stirs, eyelids fluttering several times as he works towards waking.

His gaze falls on Thor, but it's some seconds before recognition fills dull green eyes. “Brother.”

He smiles, though the word is barely audible.

“Hello, Loki,” Thor says, his own voice just a whisper.

Loki’s eyes slip closed almost immediately, but they open again, quickly enough that Thor knows he’s fighting his body’s need for rest. He thinks to tell him off for it, but there is sudden clarity in Loki’s frowning gaze.

“What—” he asks, then swallows and tries again, unable to gather any volume in his hoarse voice. “Are you—?”

“Hush, brother,” Thor says quickly, laying a hand on his forehead, “You must save your strength.”

Loki growls lowly in his throat, and with surprising force, pulls his hand from Thor’s grip. His fingers clumsily prod at Thor’s armour, persistent, searching, and Thor, for a second, knows not what he can do to ease his brother’s distress.

Finally, when Loki’s fingers drift across a smear of dried blood on his chest, Thor understands. He wraps his fingers around Loki’s hand, still pressed against his battle-stained armour.

“Peace, Loki. Peace,” he says, heart thudding heavily at the naked concern in his brother’s eyes. “I am well, brother. I’m fine. It is you that must be worried over.”

He smiles sadly, and though there is a blazing lump in his throat, Thor does not cry. _Cannot_ cry, because even now, injured and weak, his brother worries not for himself, but for Thor.

Loki watches him through half-lidded eyes, as if searching for the lie in Thor’s words, but it doesn’t take long before his eyes close completely. A small sigh escapes his lips, and Thor knows the moment when weakness overcomes stubbornness, and Loki falls back into slumber. Carefully, Thor places Loki’s hand back onto the bed, tucking it under the furs, before he stands and leaves the tent.

 

He’s trembling, he realises some minutes later when he stands outside the tent on the edge of camp. His chest is tight, and he struggles for a time to breathe in the cooling, late afternoon air. He swipes a hand across his nose, sniffing slightly, then clears his throat.

“You there,” he says to the first person who passes by him. “Bring me the Einherjar, Imir.”

“My lord?” Questions the man—boy, really— whom he has accosted.

“The Einherjar, Imir,” he repeats, just barely holding onto his temper. “Bring him to me at once.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The boy scurries off, clearly startled, and Thor runs a hand down his face. By the Norns, he is tired.

Imir appears not long after. He has removed his armour, and is now dressed only in a leather jerkin and pants, though his sword still hangs from his belt. He bows slightly, “My lord, how is—”

“I require you to gather three men to accompany yourself and Prince Loki back to Asgard.”

Imir’s eyes drift to the tent behind Thor, but he does not say anything, only dips his head, “Of course.”

 

Within the hour, Thor, along with Imir and the men that are to be Loki’s guard, have gathered around the Bifrost site, some ten minutes’ walk beyond their camp. Loki again lies on a litter, held in one hand of each of the four men that surround him. He's thoroughly unconscious, but in the dim light of early evening, Thor is able to pretend he’s only sleeping. He watches a wisp of Loki’s hair whip across his face in the breeze, and without thought, he leans over to pull the fur that covers him higher over his chest. He dips his head, pressing his forehead against Loki’s, and does not care that there are others there to see him.

“Go well, little brother,” he whispers, “I will expect you to be waiting for me when I return.”

He runs his hand once more through Loki’s hair, then straightens. He's quietly grateful when he sees that each of the men have discreetly averted their gaze so as not to intrude upon the private moment between him and his brother. He clears his throat to gain Imir’s attention, and the Einherjar, now once again dressed in his full armour, turns to him. He places a hand on the young warrior’s shoulder, and says, “It’s to you now that I entrust my brother’s care. I trust that you will see him safely home.”

“I will see to it, my lord. And if I may ask your leave, I should like to stay, only so long that I might deliver news to you of how he fares.”

“I would very much appreciate that, Imir. Thank you.”

It pains him to leave Loki’s side, but he knows he cannot abandon their cause now. Asgard’s warriors will be looking to him to lead them in what they expect to be their final days of battle, and even then, he’s duty-bound to stay until peace has been assured between their two realms.

He’s sorry that Loki will not be there to see to it. His brother has always been the better of the two of them when it came to matters of politics, and the irony isn't lost on Thor that after months of getting by with nothing but scrapes and bruises, it must be as they are on the cusp of victory that one of them should have been struck down. Abruptly, he wishes it is him who lies there now instead of Loki.

Finally, when they can delay no more, the litter is lowered to the ground, and the warriors take Loki up, cradling him in all of their arms, having decided that it would be the best way to ensure that the journey is as undemanding on Loki’s weakened body as possible. Imir nods to him once they are settled, and they all simultaneously look to the sky, knowing that Heimdall is already there to bring them home. Thor watches the bright light of the Bifrost descend, and as it shoots back into the sky, he cannot help but feel that it has taken a part of him with it.

 

“Thor? Brother, why do you cry?”

Thor lifts a hand up to his face, and feels the wetness on his cheek. He hadn't noticed—

Loki is looking at him in concern, and Thor suddenly feels foolish, though there really isn’t any reason to, given that this is _Loki._ His brother rarely judges him for such displays of emotion. Teases, maybe, but he never makes Thor feel unnecessarily like an idiot for it. He has long since finished recounting the treaty, and they'd fallen into silence as Loki’s attention had drifted away. The look on his face had suggested he was thinking deeply, reviewing everything Thor had told him. Probably, he was tucking away bits of information that could be useful in any later dealings with the Alfar. Thor’s own thoughts had eventually fallen upon the happenings of the past week, but he hadn’t noticed he had become quite so deeply involved in his memories. He feels the warm flush of embarrassment creep into his cheeks, and quickly wipes his other eye with the cuff of his sleeve.

He hadn’t cried, back then. Not when Loki had been brought to him, battered and bloody, or when he had seen him in the healer’s tent. He had remained stoic as they’d taken his brother from him back to Asgard, and had not even shed any tears on his solitary walk back to camp, as he’d tried desperately not to think that he might not see his little brother again. It was only when he had retired to his tent that night, and his worry for Loki gripped at him so keenly he could no longer keep his tears from falling.

 

When they had first arrived at their encampment on Alfheim, there had been a large area set aside for each prince to have his own quarters, but they had chosen to share instead. Given that they had done so for many years as children, neither of them thought it would be much of an issue, and they had both agreed that a single royal pavilion could accommodate them quite comfortably. With no further argument, Loki had simply picked up his belongings, and moved them into the tent alongside Thor’s.

And so, the place that had meant to be Loki’s became a second healing tent and supply store, and the two princes set to arranging their new living quarters, moving around each other with the familiar ease of those who were used to being in one another’s space.

Sometimes, they would not see each other for days. Neither of them were too bothered by it in the beginning, as such was often the case when they were home on Asgard. They had both taken to pursuing their own interests of late, and while they still frequently went out together on hunts and quests, and often travelled to other realms as the king’s emissary, it was difficult to deny that they were each starting to carve their own paths in the world.

On the nights that they were both present in camp, they would easily fall into the habits of their youth, and stay up talking well into the late hours. Loki would tell Thor about the scouting parties he led into the mountains, or the wards he had placed around the camp to alert them of intruders.

Thor in turn would talk of some of the smaller skirmishes, and the tactics they used to divert the enemies’ attempts at surprising them.

Other times they could be found sharing a wineskin, with maps and papers spread out between them, trying to think of ideas and strategies they could present to the war council.

In the beginning, Thor might have even called it _fun_.

But that was before the fighting had started in earnest, before the battles became longer and bloodier, before the morning when they received word that one hundred of their number had been slaughtered in but a few hours.

They had stumbled back into camp late that afternoon, after helping to arrange the pyres and collect the wounded, and Loki had spent hours re-casting the wards, stretching them out even further than they’d been before.

They didn't speak that night, as they lay side-by-side in their tent. They had no words to spare in their exhaustion, though it remained unspoken between them of how glad they were of each other’s company, and that they did not have to be alone in the dark.

 

Thor woke up late the morning after Loki had been sent home. Despair hung over him like a storm cloud. No matter how hard he tried to remain optimistic and remind himself that his little brother was hardier than he looked, Thor could not chase away the terrible, bereft feeling that plagued him. He had slept that night with his brother’s pillow clutched to his chest, comforted by the way it smelled of Loki, and the oils he still used in his hair that Thor had teased him about, saying how no one cared how anyone else looked when they were in the middle of war. Loki had been unperturbed as he carefully straightened his armour and smoothed out the wrinkles in his leathers.

“Maybe they care how we look, maybe they do not. But this is not just another hunt for bilgesnipe, Thor. We are still their princes, and it is we that must set the example for them all. It will do their morale no good to look upon their leaders and see that we are as haggard as they feel.”

There had been something fierce, then, in Loki’s eyes, and Thor did not miss the way his back straightened as he moved to exit their tent. He felt a fool in that moment, standing next to his brother who had so carefully put himself together when Thor had made no effort at all.

“I did not mean to make you feel chastened,” Loki continued.

“No, brother, what you say is true. These warriors look to us for their courage; they expect us to lead them to honour and glory. And we surely cannot do that if we walk amongst them looking as if we care so little that we have not even pride in our appearances. It is often the smallest things that count for the most.”

“Such is the burden we bear.”

“Always so dramatic, brother,” said Thor, amused, but when he looked closer at Loki’s face, he saw that there had been a greater meaning to his brother’s words than he’d initially thought.

He sighed. “Loki. What happened to those men was not your fault. You could not possibly have prevented it.”

“My wards—”

“Did not extend that far. Do you think they did not know that when they ventured there?”

“But if I had anticipated—”

“Brother, you cannot cast your shields over all of Alfheim on chance that someone may be lying in wait for us, nor can you hope to predict with unfailing accuracy where they may strike at any moment.

“I know that you feel responsible. I feel the weight of their loss just as you do, but we cannot take every casualty upon our shoulders, for that is a burden even we cannot carry.”

“But how can you stand it, Thor? I feel so...angry. At myself, at the Alfar…”

Thor placed both of his hands on Loki’s shoulders, “I do not think there is any true answer to that, but I find it helps to remember that those who have fallen are now feasting in Valhalla. And if that does not help, I make a promise; I promise that when the time next arises, I will fight with all the strength I have for those who still live, and in honour of those who have died a noble death.”

“By the Norns, brother. Where did you learn such eloquence? Have you been sneaking books of poetry from the library when I’m not looking?”  

“Loki…” Thor warned, dropping his hands from his brother’s shoulders, but he was pleased to see that Loki did not look quite so solemn as before.

“Thank you,” said Loki gently.

“Of course. Now, tell me. How do I look?”

“Like the Golden Prince of Asgard and a warrior worthy of the name,” said Loki immediately. “But you might want to clean that dirt from your chin before you join me outside.”

Thor immediately started to rub his chin with the palm of his hand. Upon seeing Loki’s smirk he stopped and made a grab for him, but his mischievous little brother had already ducked under the flap and disappeared.

 

Before he left the tent that morning, Thor took a brush to his hair. He washed his face, and draped his cape carefully about his shoulders. He could do nothing about the pale skin and shadowed eyes that greeted him when he looked into the small mirror above the basin, but he made an effort to school his expression before he revealed himself. He did not want to look cold or uncaring, but he also couldn’t let his troops see his fear, or the deep sorrow that attempted to crush him. He took a deep breath before he stepped outside, thinking all the while of Loki, and, despite himself, he hoped.

The mood around the camp was more subdued compared to the day before. There was still the odd smattering of laughter and jest that rose above the din, tankards of mead sloshing about in hands caught up in conversation, but it all seemed far less cheerful and energetic. Undoubtedly, news of what happened to Loki had spread.

Thor knew that perhaps he should say something to lift their spirits, but in his current state, he could not think of a single word that might help. The Aesir were a robust people, strong and skilled on the battlefield, and confident of their victory over any foe. And while death in battle was revered as the highest of honours, it was not always so easy to be reminded of their mortality.

Not for the first time in the past few hours, Thor wished Loki was there with him. No doubt his silver tongue would be ready with the perfect speech to ease the awkwardness that made Thor feel like fleeing back into the safety of his tent.

He squared his shoulders and made his way to where he could get himself some breakfast. Most bowed their heads in greeting, some of the younger warriors even pressing their hands to their chests as he passed them by.

It was out of respect as much as anything else, but Thor was certain he didn’t imagine that there were at least a few faces that showed genuine sympathy. Until Imir returned, Thor would not know if he still had a brother, or if Asgard still had her second prince.

Loki would say that it would not bother them either way.

He generally thought of himself as disliked, and while Thor couldn’t deny it was the case sometimes, he also knew how hard his brother tried to pretend it did not bother him.

He spotted the three men who had taken Loki back to Asgard, sitting around one of the smaller fires, solemn and grim-faced as they spoke to two others.

It struck him then. Would they mourn, if Norns forbid Loki _did_ die? His brother had joked once that if _Thor_ were to die in battle, the tears shed over him would fill rivers. He doesn’t remember anymore what he said in return, only that it was equally dramatic, and Loki had laughed and brushed it off with another joke. It had taken him many months before he fully recognised the look that had been in Loki’s eyes that day.

 

It had been Loki’s name-day, and his brother—as he often did—had snuck out of the revelries early, and retreated to his favourite spot outside the city: a tall hill dotted with wildflowers from which one could see almost all of Asgard. Thor had found him there, lying on his back in the grass, staring at the stars.

He only shakes his head, always amused by his strange little brother, as he lowers himself to lie next to him, shoulders brushing. For long moments, Loki says nothing to him, doesn’t even seem to notice his presence.

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?” he says finally. His voice shakes minutely as he says it, and Thor wonders for a moment if he’s had too much to drink.

But it’s more that quiver that appears on rare occasions when Loki is trying and not quite succeeding at hiding whatever emotion he’s feeling, be it awe or excitement or exhaustion or sadness. Thor isn’t entirely sure which it is, this time.

He turns his gaze away from Loki’s face and back toward the sky.

“They are,” he agrees, watching the swirling clusters and constellations above him, painting the night sky in whites and yellows and bright blue and soft pink, “I don’t look at them often enough.”

Loki hums, “Really?”   

Thor frowns at him, thinking he’s mocking, but Loki hasn’t stopped looking at the sky, “I look at them as much as I can. They really shouldn’t fascinate me as much as they do but…”

“Why do they, then?” Thor asks.

“I don’t know...I look at them and I think that for all the grandeur of Asgard, and all we’ve seen in the Nine Realms and beyond, that there are still vast universes out there that perhaps even we cannot comprehend. That we who are worshipped as gods are, in reality, truly small in the larger scheme of things.”

By then, Thor is all but convinced his brother must be drunk. “By the Norns, Loki, how much have you had to drink tonight?”

Loki shrugs, “A few goblets of wine, perhaps.”

Thor pushes himself up onto an elbow, tries and fails to read Loki’s inscrutable expression. “Brother. Are you alright?”

Loki looks at him curiously. “Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s your name-day, but instead of celebrating, you are out here, alone, sprouting verse about how insignificant we all are.”

“But I’m not alone, Thor. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes I am, little brother. And you know I will always be, yes?”

“Of course, you oaf,” says Loki, pushing his shoulder and almost causing him to lose his balance. Thor smiles and settles down again beside him.

“Will you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“What it is that has you so sombre tonight.”

Loki shifts minutely, briefly bumping into his side, before clasping his hands across his stomach.

“It’s an odd thing, isn’t it? A name-day. Every year we celebrate the advent of growing older, but it is such a fleeting amount of time for beings like us that we barely feel its passing. And yet...I still find myself wondering. If it were all to end and I died tomorrow...how long would it be before I am forgotten? A year? Two? And of those who do by chance remember, what is it they will remember me for?”

He shakes his head, taking a deep breath with it, and Thor almost regrets asking until he feels guilty for thinking so. Clearly, whatever had brought the contemplations on, his brother is upset by them, and he finds himself wondering how often Loki thinks about such things.

“I’m sorry, Thor,” says Loki suddenly. “There is a feast in the palace that you should be enjoying with your friends. You should not be lying out here listening to my nonsensical rambling.”

In one fluid movement he’s on his feet and walking away, but he only gets to the edge of the hill before he stops. He stands there for several seconds, straight-backed and proud as a prince should be, but Thor’s heart lurches when he sees his shoulders drop, and he understands that Loki fully expects him to leave and go back to the palace. He gets to his own feet and follows, and does not give his brother any time to protest before he grasps his shoulders and turns him, perhaps a little too roughly from the emotions that have stirred in him at seeing Loki so defeated. He looks into his brother’s face, and is immediately reminded of that day when they had joked all those months ago.

“ _I_ would remember you, Loki. Me and Mother and Father and many others. Do not doubt that.”

He hugs him tightly, and it _hurts._

It hurts to think that Loki is so unsure of himself that he believes he wouldn’t be remembered if he died. That Loki— young as he is— should even be thinking of such things as death and dying and the worth of his place in the world.

But it’s easy to forget, and to dismiss his words as merely rogue thoughts brought on by the occasion, when Loki wakes up the next day so much like himself that he snickers endlessly over the loud blasts of horns and bugles that he sets off all over the palace, always conveniently in the presence of those who had quite obviously indulged a little too much the night before. Even when Odin scolds him for it over lunch, Loki is quick with his words and entirely unrepentant, and so different from how he’d been the night before, that Thor isn’t entirely sure he didn’t imagine it.

But it weighs heavily on him as he walks through camp and meets the gazes of those around him. _Would_ these men mourn for Loki? A terrible thought occurs to him of arriving back in Asgard to find that Loki is gone and no one cares, but that couldn’t possibly happen.

Loki is their prince. Even if they hold no other regard for him than that...he has fought beside them for months, and certainly has saved more than one life in doing it.

 _Of course_ they would grieve for his intelligent and brave little brother, who had felt so much responsibility for these men that he once stood in their tent and blamed himself for deaths he couldn’t have prevented.

It couldn’t be possible that Loki really thought he could ever forget his brother’s sly smile and wise words. Surely he knows how much Thor already misses him, how much he loves him.

How his heart would break to lose him.

He has only taken a few bites of his breakfast before his appetite leaves him. He forces himself to eat a little more, knowing he will need his strength for what lies ahead in the next few days, but he barely tastes it.

How does Loki bear it? To have fought so fiercely only to expect so little in return?

He makes a promise then, and every day after until it is time to go home, that Loki will know how much he means to him.

And when he next stands on the edge of battle, he steels himself with eyes closed and a hand pressed to his heart, and vows to fight with all the strength he has left. _For Loki._

 

“Thor?”

He shakes his head. “Forgive me, brother. I was only thinking.”

“You know you need not ask my forgiveness for _that_. In fact, I would rather encourage it, given how seldom you do it.”

He knows it’s meant to be teasing, but Loki says it so gently, and with such compassion, that Thor can barely suppress the renewed stinging in his eyes. He wraps his other hand around Loki’s and brings it to his forehead as he attempts to calm the swelling feeling in his chest.

He does not know why, but he thinks he has never loved his brother as strongly as he does then.

Loki’s hand twists in his grasp, and when he looks up, he sees that Loki has sat up straight, one knee bent as if preparing to swing it off the bed.

The skin around his eyes is tight, and his free hand is laid across his chest. “Thor, what _is_ it?”

He finally lets go of Loki’s hand, and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to lean on his brother’s legs as he draws a knee up to better face Loki where he sits.

He places his hand in the crook of Loki’s neck, letting his thumb glide gently across the skin of his cheek.

“It’s nothing, brother. I am only very glad to be home. I have missed you.”

“I missed you too, Thor.”

Loki smiles at him affectionately, and for a while Thor simply cards his fingers through Loki’s hair, brushing through the tangles in the lank strands before tucking them behind his ear.

“Does it hurt terribly?” he asks, watching Loki knead his knuckles lightly into the skin of his chest.

“Some,” he admits, dropping his hand into his lap. “Mostly it just itches.”

“You frightened me, you know,” Thor confesses, letting his gaze sink to the rumpled sheets between them. “When they brought you to me and you were…” He shakes his head. “I was so afraid that I might lose you.”

This time, it’s Loki that wraps his hand around Thor’s, squeezing tightly. “Brother, I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you—”

“I know. Of course you didn’t. But Loki…Can you— will you promise me something?”

“Of course.”

He looks up into tired green eyes, and his heart stutters in his chest. He knows what he is about to say will sound terribly childish and desperate, but he cares little when he remembers those awful, burning wounds, and only knows that he never wants to see his little brother like that ever again.

“Promise me that this won’t happen again. Promise me that you will never be so hurt again.”

“Oh Thor,” says Loki quietly, “You know as well as I that I cannot promise something like this will never happen again. Not when we will inevitably face many more battles before we are done. But I _can_ promise to do my utmost to ensure that it does not, as long as you will promise to do the same.”

Thor nods, “I promise.”

“In that case, I too promise that in any future battle I face, I will do all that I can to return home hale and whole, so as not to unnecessarily worry my great oaf of a brother.”

Thor cannot help a soft bark of laughter. There is jest in Loki’s words, but it only takes a glimpse into his eyes to know that he means them, and that is all Thor needs.

He once again takes hold of Loki’s neck, and pulls him forward until their foreheads meet.

“I love you, Loki. You know that, don’t you? More than anything in this world or the next.”

“Oh, Thor. You utter, sentimental idiot. I love you too.”

 

They stay that way for some minutes more, content in each other’s presence, and Thor finds himself equally bemused that even after all this time, his brother’s closeness should still be so soothing.

But he does hear it when Loki’s breath catches, and he releases him straight away. Loki grimaces a little as he straightens from the slight hunch, and Thor gets to his feet.

“Come,” he says, “You should rest now.”

Loki cuts him an annoyed look, and guilt blossoms once more as he stretches over to fluff up his pillows. He does not touch, but keeps a hand close to Loki’s back as his brother eases himself into a more reclined position against the mound of white cushions. He blinks slowly in relief as he sinks more heavily into the bed, and Thor pulls the blankets up over his waist, absently smoothing them out along his leg.

“You needn’t look so troubled, Thor. I’m perfectly fine.”

Loki opens one eye to stare at him where he stands hesitating by the side of the bed.

“I fear I have kept you longer than I should.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am quite capable of holding a conversation for longer than two minutes,” Loki says indignantly, but it seems his body will not abide the lie, and he winces, hand once again fluttering over his chest.

“Are you in pain? Perhaps I should fetch Eir—”

Loki waves off Thor’s concern, shaking his head against the pillows, “No need. I’m alright. I merely pulled at something I shouldn’t have, I think. But you are right; I have perhaps over-exerted myself. Though that is no more your fault than mine.”

Thor opens his mouth to contest that, but Loki interrupts before he can speak. “Now. Are you planning on standing there all day? Because I assure you, there is no excitement to be had from watching me sleep.”

Thor lowers himself back into his seat next to the bed. “If it is all the same to you, I should like to stay for a while.”

“You will be bored inside a minute,” Loki warns. “But I care not what you do, so long as you do it quietly.”

The churlish words are borne from frustration at his body’s weakness more than they are indifference to Thor’s plans, and Thor simply lets them roll over him like he normally does when he knows there’s no real bite in his brother’s surliness. Loki stares at him for a while, eyes narrowed in challenge of his intent to stay, but Thor only leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest.

Loki shakes his head at his older brother’s intractability and shuts his eyes, but Thor does not miss the way the corner of his mouth twitches.

Thor smiles and lifts his feet onto Loki’s bed, sliding down into the chair until he is mostly prone, then pulls the matching pillow from behind his back to cushion his head. He takes one last look at his already sleeping brother before he closes his own eyes.

He is glad to be home.


End file.
